Absolute Illusions
by Miss-Savvi
Summary: Every soul has a life-a story. Birth is the beginning, but death is not necessarily the end. At least, not for those destined to control it. For two, death starts out under unusual circumstances, and ends where neither would have expected in their lives
1. Death

_Author's Note: I swear that I will continue with William's past story, but as of now I am obsessing over Alan Humphries from Kuroshitsuji: The Most Beautiful Death in the World. Therefore, I shall have to write (somewhat) of a past story for him._

___Pairing: Eric X Alan_

Rating: T (Subject to Change)

Lyrics: "Change" Poets of the Fall (Have a listen, for they are amazing)  


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* * *

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___My worth is the look in your eyes  
My prize is the smile playing tricks on your lips, and I wonder again  
Do you ever dream of the world like I do?_  


Eric Slingby was in a foul mood. It was arguable to say that there was never a time where he was _not _being bothered by one thing or another, but this time the list certainly seemed to be topped.

He drummed his fingers at his sides, waiting outside the mansion for what would be his fourth soul of the day. Fourth. Dispatch had been painfully shorthanded for several weeks, ever since influenza had begun to spread across Britain. Now, every God of Death could count on clocking out at _least _three hours passed schedule. As long as people kept dying off like flies, the need for Reapers would remain in high demand.

Eric grumbled something that could have been a cuss to himself before snuffing out his cigarette in the cobblestone at his feet. He checked his watch—15:18. Seven more minutes until the guy died. Right about now, he figured, was when family members would be panicking, racing about to call doctors and whatnot as a ditch effort to save the life of their loved one. It was a scene Eric had never grown useful. He had learnt to simply stand outside until he was needed.

The "guy" in question was someone by the name of Alan Humphries. A rich man, by the looks of things. Probably elderly, arranged to die of a terminal illness. Eric really had no idea. He'd long since given up on researching souls before their demise, for as of late there had been many a change in the lists.

It seemed to happen every time mass amounts of humans were supposed to die. Demons, that is. They swarmed to earth in numbers, shamelessly devouring souls as they went. It made it nearly impossible for Reapers to figure who was scheduled to die, and who had been "saved." As long as the name and location matched, it was good enough for him.

Thirty seconds. Eric ran a hand over the blade of his scythe, checking to be sure it was in peak condition for the task at hand. If all was going according to plan, Alan should have been taking his last breath right, about, now. A drawn out sigh escaped his lips, as he headed towards the gates.

The bedroom was small, not at all fitting the grandeur of the estate. Eric glanced about, noting the strong aroma of lilies from a vase in the corner of the room. The windows had been covered with black curtains, and apart from the form lying lifeless on the bed, the room was empty. It was as though the family had decided that it had been taking far too long for the man to die, and started setting up his funeral ahead of time.

For the first time in a while, something pulled at his heart. Of course he was used to humans and their cruelties, but even so…to simply leave someone to die alone, seemingly unloved while they went about their daily lives seemed especially cruel. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he approached the bed.

Alan Humphries was nothing like he'd expected. The kid was _maybe _twenty-something years old tops, sandy brown hair falling in all directions. Eric double checked the list, sure that he'd had the wrong person. But the name was correct, as well as the address. The funeral-esque feel of the room confirmed things entirely. Hesitatingly, he reached out a hand, touching the young man on the shoulder. Eyelids fluttered open, revealing a soft, greenish-brown gaze. Eric stood, waiting for the inevitable questions.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

"You are indeed, Mr. Humphries. My name is Eric Slingby, and I am here to collect your soul."

"My name's Alan." Alan said, extending a hand. Eric looked at the gesture, hesitating to accept it. "It's nice to meet you, sir." He said with a practiced smile.

"Pleasure." He almost had to laugh at the kid, conversing with an introduced God of Death as though they were classmates. Eric almost had to remind himself to hurry along.

"Now then, Alan, are you prepared to be on your way?"

"Whenever you're ready, sir." The young man smiled, sitting up in bed. "Truth be told, I've been waiting for this day for a long while." Eric nodded sadly.

"Well then…" he said in a low voice, "I just have one more thing that I am required to ask you. Are there any messages you would like delivered to anyone you know? Something to state that you have passed on?"

Alan shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir."

"You're entirely sure? Your mother or father would not want to know? Brothers, sisters, friends…" again, the young man responded with the shake of his head.

"Sorry to disappoint, sir, but they've all been waiting for this for some time as well." He motioned to the curtains and the lilies. There was something entirely saddening about the way he spoke. His words were brimming with truth, yet they lacked any trace of self-pity.

"Very well then. You're makin' my job easier, kid." he mumbled the last part, but was somehow sure by the confusion on the other's face that he'd heard it.

Before he had a chance to feel too sorry for the young man, Eric withdrew his scythe from behind his back. There was only an instant of fear on Alan's face before the blade was plunged into his chest. A usual reaction, Eric thought


	2. One of Us

As expected, rather than blood, white filmstrips poured forth from the fresh wound. Eric slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cracking his neck quickly before setting to work.

The viewing of a Cinematic Record was perhaps the most mundane task, aside from sorting paperwork all day. Virtually all stories were ho-hum at best, with the occasional murderer or occultist to break up the pattern. The viewing itself wasn't entirely horrible, but it was the time that it took up that made it truly hell. So it was with a drawn out sigh, and a quick glancing of his watch that Eric touched the first slide.

The story started, as all did, with birth.

_A modest house in the English countryside was the setting of the scene. Inside, midwives continually exited and entered a room with a closed door. They scurried about, carrying in white sheets, and bringing out ones that had been stained red. A man, presumably the father to be, stood outside the door. His eyes were fixated on the ground. Over and over the same words escaped his lips,_

_ "It's too early. It's too early." _

Eric stole a quick glance to the lifeless body of Alan, then back to the scene which had shifted in a blinding flash of light.

_After what seemed like hours of chaos, a somberness had fallen over the house. Inside the room, the man stood over his wife. Her hair was plastered to her face, eyes lightly closed, breathing gasping and shallow. He ran a hand down her cheek, thumb pausing at her upper lip. He whispered something that could have been "I love you" before her heart had stopped completely. _

_ "Do you want to see your son?" one of the midwives asked meekly. The man looked up for a moment, and answered with disdain,_

_ "No."_

The Reaper retired the film into a black book, neatly labeled "Cinematic Record: Alan Humphries". He paused, feeling another tug at his heart. A voice from somewhere in his mind warned him that this was not the worst thing that the young man would have to endure. Hesitantly, he touched the next filmstrip.

_The sun danced gingerly upon a sturdy, wooden desk, creating small patterns as it pleased through the stained glass. A young boy of approximately ten stared out the window onto a grand landscape below. The modest house from before had shifted to an impressive mansion, surrounded by wrought iron gates._

"Looks like a damn prison." Eric mumbled quietly.

_"Alan!" the young boy's neck practically snapped at the voice. _

_ "Y-yes, sir?" he managed to stutter before a scrawny, yet altogether intimidating man came into the room._

_ "What is it that you're doing in here, Alan?" _

_ "Why, I was reading, sir." He said sheepishly. The man frowned._

_ "You should be studying, Alan." _

_ "Well I-I was, sir but then I seem to have…gotten distracted." The excuse did not seem to alleviate the man's disgust. Without warning, a sickening smile spread played about his face, giving him the appearance of a skeleton. Alan bit his lip._

_ "Need I remind you, Alan, of the kindness your aunt and I have shown you?"_

_ "No, sir."_

_ "How when no one else wanted you, we took you in? How when your mother died and father left, we were the ones who had the capacity in our hearts to accept you into the family?"_

_ "I know, sir." Tears were brimming on the edge of the young boy's eyes. The topic of his parents was an awfully useful form of leverage._

_ "It seems to me, Alan, that the very least you could do for us would be to mind your lessons." With a feeble nod, Alan managed a small,_

_ "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I'll mind the rules from now on." _

_ "Good." And with that, the scrawny man left the child alone._

The cruelty of humans never ceased to disgust him. Eric grit his teeth, risking another glance at the being on the bed. The poor kid. He didn't deserve the mess that life had handed him. Once more, he retired the segment to the Cinematic Record, and begrudgingly started another chapter.

_Alan sat soundlessly on an unforgivingly cold table. His eyes were glued to a clock at the desk, waiting for some inevitability. Next to him, a grey-haired man worked with his back turned, once and a while emitting a small "hmm". The pair stayed like this a few moments, neither saying a word until finally the doctor spoke. _

_ "You're going to die." _

_ His word were blunt, simple, and all together inescapable. Alan sucked in a deep breath, as a shiver made its way down his spine. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before asking,_

_ "How long, doctor?"_

_ "I'd wager about a month." The old man shrugged. " Your condition is advancing quite rapidly. Fascinating, really, when you look at the grand scheme of things. I mean, a simple cough turning into this…Quite remarkable."_

_ Alan's mouth drew into a small frown. He didn't think that it was "remarkable" in the least. _

_ "Given your ill health though, you must admit that this doesn't come as too big of a shock, hmm?" the grey-haired man asked, more to himself than to his patient. Still, Alan nodded._

_ "I suppose it's not." He said curtly, not entirely found of being talked to as though he were an experiment. The façade of politeness was victorious, however and as he made his way to the door he said,_

_ "If that's the case then, doctor. Thank you very much for your time." And left._

Condition? Eric quickly checked his list, noting that Alan Humphries was to die of sudden heart and lung failure, brought about by complications of pneumonia.

"Well I'll hand it to you, kid, you certainly know how to leave an impression." Eric shook his head, a sad grin lacing his features. Absently, he brushed a strand of hair from Alan's eyes.

Slowly, he brought his hand to the next filmstrip, touching the frame, ever so lightly.

But nothing happened.

He looked over the slide, waiting for a picture to appear, or a sound to resonate, but the film did neither. Instead, it acted as a mirror, reflecting the same scene back at him.

"What the…?" He looked down at Alan again, nearly stumbling backward as a white-ish glow enveloped the young man. His body seemed to hover a few moments, and the Reaper (admittedly) was at a total loss of what to do.

Eric Slingby was by no means an old God of Death. Having died barely ten years prior in some skirmish at a pub that had ended in gunshots, he'd never seen anything like this before in his career. However, he could fancy a guess.

Hesitating, he closed the Cinematic Record. Its contents were swept back into the book, immersing the room in darkness once more. The white light that had been surrounding the young man had faded, leaving him in a state that looked a lot like a peaceful sleep. A few moments passed in which nothing happened. Eric seriously considered if his sanity had been beginning to fade away after so much field work. Until Alan stirred.

Once again, Eric was greeted by soft blinking. Only this time, something was off. The eyes that had once been such a sweet shade of hazel, were now bright green. Alan's feverish looking frame suddenly looked healthy, albeit fragile. Still, much better than the greyish tone his skin had taken on before. With a mellifluous sort of yawn, he addressed Eric.

"What happened?" The God of Death cracked an awkward smile.

"You know I'd be lying if I told you I knew." Alan's face crumpled in confusion. He squinted his eyes.

"Why is everything so blurry?"

"Here." Eric said, taking off his glasses for a moment "Try these out, see if it helps."

Alan took them gently, sliding the glasses up the bridge of his nose. He blinked once or twice, then nodded.

"Definitely better." Again, Eric smiled, though in all honesty he wasn't sure why. Something about Alan was innocently amusing. "But I have to ask you, sir…what exactly happened to me?"

The older Reaper shrugged.

"By the looks of things, I'd say you're one of us."

_Author's Note: Gah! That was terrible! I feel so awful and everyone is probably going to hate me for being so cruel with Alan's past and all. The only thing I have to say to this is it will get happier, I swear. Had to get the sad stuff out of the way before I could make with the smooshy-love-stuff._


	3. Not Alone

"One of…you?" Alan repeated the words, eyebrows furrowing. "I'm sorry, sir, but what do you mean?"

"A God of Death, you know, Grim Reapers, Shinigami, Gatherer of Souls, Bringer of Demise…you know, that sort of thing." Alan shook his head.

"I'm sorry…I still do not quite comprehend."

Eric brought a hand to his chin in thought, eyes cast toward the ceiling.

"You know something? I'm not quite sure how it all works myself!" he mustered up a laugh. "Just sort of remember waking up from a fight to some guy telling me that I'd kicked it! Next thing I knew I was filling out paperwork back at Dispatch." The younger man did not return his good humour. A frown played about his mouth.

"That's nice and all, but why _me_? I'm not cut out for killing people, or whatever it is you do. No offense, but I think that you have the wrong person. If you could just kill me, that would be great." Eric could barely keep himself from stifling a chuckle. No doubt that this kid would be great fun.

"Sorry, but no can do. Fate's chosen you to become a God of Death."

"No!" Alan said suddenly. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and his newly green eyes darted back and forth across Eric's features. "I'm sorry, but I refuse to go along with this! Please, can't you just take my soul and be done with things? I don't _want _to live any longer." He ended the last part of his speech in a whisper, gaze dropping to the floor in shame.

The strong hand on his shoulder startled him.

Why was he doing this? Even Eric himself didn't know as he felt the younger man tremble beneath his grip. In that moment, though, after seeing the loneliness Alan had suffered throughout his life, the action seemed right.

"I'm sorry, kid…" He whispered sadly. "But it's really not up to me to decide." He gave the hand on Alan's shoulder a soft squeeze, and with the other tilted his chin upward. "But I promise you one thing," their eyes met, "you won't have to be alone anymore."

Alan nodded slowly in silent understanding.

"Alright."

* * *

Alan was still dressed in pajamas when they arrived. He did not especially remember the journey itself. Only that they were walking down a vacant street, when the scenery started to gradually fade away into a new world completely.

This world looked a lot like London. Alan gazed about at the ornamented buildings, and rows of flats that seemed to be as old as time itself. It was winter here. Snow covered the ground in diamond-like blankets, and Alan had to remind himself not to smile like a fool when fresh snowflakes landed in his hair.

"I've always loved the snow." He said softly.

"Aren't you cold?" Eric chuckled a little.

"Oh!" he said, suddenly realizing how impractical he must have looked, and the lack of feeling in his toes from where snow had seeped its way through his slippers. "I hadn't even realized the temperature."

Eric laughed again.

The pair arrived outside the door to a small flat a few moment later. Alan's amusement with the snow had depleted to mild annoyance at the end of their journey.

"Excuse me, Mr. Slingby?" he said.

"Call me Eric."

"Alright then…Eric? " he tested the name on his tongue, and decided that he liked that much better than the properness of 'Mr. Slingby'. It fit his personality, he thought. "Where exactly are we?"

"You'll see soon enough."

* * *

The pair stood outside a huge set of double doors. The building seemed off in a world that had looked so antiquated, towering above the rest of the (what could only be described as a) city. A grey exterior was the only thing somewhat normal about the place. Panes of black glass reflected the sun's blinding rays off of the modern structure. A plaque near the door read "Death God Dispatch".

"Eric?" Alan fought to keep a stutter from his voice.

"Looks scary, huh?" the younger man nodded hastily, feeling just a bit foolish. "Don't worry. It's not so bad, I promise."

* * *

"What is he wearing?" The dark haired man looked over Alan's pyjamas with obvious disapproval.

"Don't be like that, Spears!" Eric mustered a half-grin, patting the other on the back. "The kid just got here, you could at least say hello!"

The one introduced as Spears emitted a quick, "honestly", then stuck out his hand towards the young God of Death. By the look on his face, the gesture was more out of obligation than interest in meeting him.

"My name is William T. Spears."

"Alan Humphries, sir." Alan said, once more with his small, polite smile.

"And you died today?"

"Yes, sir...At least, I think so?"

"And Eric Slingby was on the scene, correct?"

Alan nodded again.

"Very well." William T. Spears thought a moment, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We will need to get you proper attire. I can see that Mr. Slingby failed to do so." He motioned towards the pyjamas.

"Hey! In my defense, I had no idea what to do. Alan here is the first Death God I've come across."

"Honestly." William said again, swiftly turning his back on the two. "Wait here."

* * *

"Is Mr. Spears…Is he always so…cross?" Alan stole a glance over his shoulder, being sure that the dark haired man hadn't returned.

"Spears?" Eric repeated, shaking his head. "Nah, he's not so bad. You'll get used to him. The guy's great fun to tease."

"Oh." The smaller man said quietly, not really wishing to point out that teasing a man like Mr. Spears was _not _his idea of fun. Instead, he opted for a soft,

"Excuse me, Eric?"

But before he had a chance to say anymore, a groaning door interrupted him. William appeared again, carrying a folded suit in his hands.

"Here you are, Mr. Humphries. Your standard uniform, and of course, your glasses." The dark haired man handed Alan a thin, delicate pair of glasses. He immediately put them on.

"Rule number one, all Gods of Death _must _wear their glasses." Alan nodded, blinking as his vision began to clear.

"I have work I must attend to. Mr. Slingby?"

"Yes?"

"I trust that you will help Mr. Humphries find his way around?" Eric nodded, adding,

"Does it mean I get the rest of the day off?"

William only responded with an "honestly", then walked away.

"Well kid," Eric said, flinging an arm over Alan's shoulder. "Looks like you're with me."


	4. All a Dream

The new Reaper had changed out of his pyjamas (which were swiftly discarded) and into the suit that had been provided. He was used to fineries such at cufflinks and ties, but he had to admit that the idea of wearing the same thing every day would soon feel entirely boring.

The two walked up and down the halls of the Dispatch Centre, briefly stopping every once and a while as Eric pointed something out that he considered important. Once or twice Alan made a small noise, indicating that he had heard a certain detail, but other than that the journey was silent.

It crossed his mind once or twice that all of this was a dream. Surely, Gods of Death did not exist, and this was all some delusional effect of his illness. But it seemed so _real_. Alan glanced up at Eric, who was talking about proper dress-code or something along those lines. Without a second thought, the younger man reached over, and pinched his own wrist.

Pain shot up his arm. He must have made a face, for Eric's focus was immediately on him.

"You alright there?" Alan nodded foolishly, his face turning pink. "What was that all about?"

"I've decided that I must be dreaming." He stated. Eric merely cocked his head to the side, eyebrow raised in confrontation.

"Really now…" he chuckled. "All of this is a dream, huh?"

"What else could it be!" Alan said, voice rising in an unexpected turn. "This _must _be some sort of effect of my illness. Any moment I'll wake up in my own bed, and then I'll be able to die properly. No Death Gods involved."

Eric did not reply, and for a moment the smaller man felt bad for having offended him. He instantly reminded himself that one could not offend a figment of their imagination, and the guilt washed away.

"I wish you were right, you know." The Reaper finally said. There was an air of sadness in his voice. It was a sound that Alan knew well—loneliness. "There isn't a day that passes by when I don't question my fate."

Even if it was all in his mind, Alan still felt sorry for the older man. Not being one to know how to give comfort, he stood still, eyes scanning the other's.

"I've seen people I loved die in front of me…or worse…" Alan did not have the courage to ask what "or worse" could have meant. He could only guess. "And it dawns on me from time to time—I really am all alone. Forced to live forever…or at least damn close to it…watching as people I knew in life slip by, never having to worry about shit like soul collecting or Cinematic Records…"

"Eric…" The younger took a step closer. "I'm sorry…I…" he was at a loss of words.

"You're not dreaming, Alan." Alan liked the way that Eric said his name. Well, he liked it a lot better than he liked being called "kid". "I'm just sorry that you have to put up with this shit now too. Hate to see a good kid like you have to work at a place like this…but the fates are cruel, now aren't they?" He mumbled, managing a soft smile.

Alan nodded, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth as well.

"Well then…at least I've found a friend." He said without thinking. The grin that had been playing about Eric's lips spread across his face. He added with a laugh,

"Yeah, I guess you have."

* * *

And with that, the pair continued their tour, mood brighter, and smiles apparent…though Eric had pointed out that smiling was technically against the rules.

Time was one of the most important mechanisms in this realm. Though as of late they were usually forced to work extra hours, Eric made an extra point in stressing that all Gods of Death were to have their work completed in entirety by the time the clock struck eight.

"But what if someone was to die after that time?" Alan asked. Eric and him had been walking home, and it was only now that Alan noticed a chill in the air. He did his best not to shiver.

"Well…I suppose night shift would take care of it then. Good news for us, eh?"

"I suppose so."

There were still many things that Alan did not understand, but he tried to keep his questions to a minimum so as not to annoy his new friend. Silence hovered over them for a moment, broken only by the occasional kick of a pebble or slosh of snow.

"Where are we going?" Alan finally asked.

"Home. You're staying with me…at least, for tonight." Eric said, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Want one?" he asked, rollup already in in his mouth.

"No." Alan wrinkled his nose. There weren't many things that he did not approve of, but smoking was one of them. The stench nearly made him sick to his stomach.

"I don't smoke often." The other man said, noting the aversion on Alan's face. "And if it bugs you, then I can wait until later."

"Really?"

"Sure…why, does that shock you or something?"

"Ah…" he began, not quite sure how to put his feelings into words. "People normally don't care about what I have to say, so I guess when you offered to not smoke right now…it was a little bit surprising."

"Ah well, I don't want to tick you off. You look like you've got a lot of fight in you. I'd hate to see you angry." Eric winked.

* * *

"Well, here we are!" The older Reaper exclaimed suddenly. Alan thanked heaven that they'd arrived at their destination. He hadn't wanted to say anything, but his fingers and toes had begun to grow numb with cold, and he felt as though he was about to collapse.

"It's not much, I'm afraid, but it's home." He turned the key in the lock with a metallic clank. Warmth from inside escaped the open door as the two Reapers walked in.

It took Alan a moment to get used to the dim lighting. He took advantage of a coatrack near the door to hang up his suit, and took his shoes off politely in the entryway. Eric had already made his way inside the house, kicking off his shoes towards the nearest wall, and leaving his coat in a heap on the sofa one room over. Alan gazed about, taking in his surroundings.

The flat was small, as it was expected to be for one person. The brunet noticed two sets of doors on either side of him. One lead to the sitting room, and the other (he assumed, for it was closed) to the kitchen. A great staircase loomed in front of him. Though darkness shrouded the top, he was sure that a bedroom or two waited there. A bed sounded most pleasant at the moment.

"Mind if I make something to eat?" Eric called from behind the closed door. Alan's attention immediately focused to him.

"Not at all…I'm not very hungry though." He admitted.

"Suit yourself. You're actually lucky—I'm a pretty lousy cook." Alan smiled a little, legs slowly wavering towards the sitting room. It was lightly furnished, with only the sofa, a small end table, and a fireplace as fittings. Smoldering embers burned in the hearth, their warmth entirely welcome to the young man as he sat on the couch. He noted Eric's jacket, and reluctantly pulled it over himself, smelling just the faintest hint of cologne. It was a comforting scent, he supposed.

_I won't go to sleep…I'll just rest my eyes for a moment. _He thought to himself, doing just that.

* * *

"Hey Alan, I—," Eric looked over to the sofa to see an exhausted Alan Humphries already peacefully asleep. "Never mind." He smiled, walking to the young man's side. Absently, he ran a hand through his hair, taken aback by its softness.

Surely sleeping on the sofa could not have been all that comfortable, but in the moment, Eric didn't have the heart to wake him. Instead, he covered him with a spare quilt, and rested a hand on his cheek.

"Sleep well." He said, the words feeling a little foreign to him. "You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."


End file.
